


Flatline

by darlingdisastrous



Series: To Be Determined - Anthology [3]
Category: Flatliners (1990)
Genre: Age Difference, Angst, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Blow Jobs, Death, F/M, Fingerfucking, First Kiss, First Time, Fluff, Hand Jobs, Mentions of Murder, Mentions of Suicide, Older Man/Younger Woman, Smut, Temporary Character Death, Vaginal Fingering
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-21
Updated: 2021-02-21
Packaged: 2021-03-18 14:01:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,806
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29610489
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/darlingdisastrous/pseuds/darlingdisastrous
Relationships: Nelson Wright/Reader, Nelson Wright/You
Series: To Be Determined - Anthology [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2175507





	Flatline

You’d only ever been inside the Med building once, back when you wrote the article about near-death experiences. It was a travesty, in your opinion, that a building so beautiful should be wasted on _science_ _majors_. It was the most beautiful building on campus with towering columns and angelic sculptures. It had been going under heavy renovation since the start of the semester, but it was as beautiful as ever.

You and Nelson sprint across campus like thieves in the night, hand-in-hand, not a word exchanged. Your footsteps echoed across the cobblestones, your coats fluttering behind you in the soft autumn breeze.

Nelson had been waiting for you outside of your dorm. No exchange was necessary. Somehow, he knew you weren’t going to turn him down. It annoyed you how confident he was, sometimes. You were still reluctant, but in the end, your curiosity and overall concern for Nelson won out.

When dusk arrived, the two of you left your dorm. There was no turning back.

Nelson lead you around the building, avoiding the main entrance. He came to a stop in front of a set of cellar doors. He crouched down and unwound the chain that ‘locked’ the doors.

“In all my years here,” he says under his breath, “They’ve never actually locked up. It’s a travesty—good thing I’m the only one who knows about it.”

The doors open with a squeal. Nelson lays one to the side, then the other, careful to not let them slam. He swings his legs around and hops down onto the stairs.

“Are you coming?”

“Down _there_?”

Nelson made a face, “Yes, down there. What did you think I was doing?” 

Though you’ve outgrown your fear of the dark, the idea of being pitch-black cellar of the medical facility where they may-or-may-not house cadavers sounds unappealing.

You take a step back. “I’ll take my chances up here.”

“And get caught by security for loitering?” He holds out his hand for you to take. “C’mon, Y/N. You’re going to be facing things much scarier than the dark tonight.”

You swallow a protest. Nelson knows this building like the back of his hand, and though you have confidence in your sneaking abilities, you would get lost the moment you went off on your own.

Firmly, you take his hand and hop down onto the narrow stairs. Nelson waits until you’re at the bottom, then pulls the doors shut behind you, plunging you in complete darkness.

It’s loud in the cellar. Machines roar and hiss as they chug on. It’s deafening. You can’t hear your own breathing, much less Nelson’s footsteps. A red emergency light glows in the distance. The faint illumination sets you on edge. You shouldn’t be here.

Suddenly, someone grabs you. You shriek, only to realize it’s Nelson. You feel his chest rumbling against your back. He’s _laughing_ at you. That bastard’s laughing!

You swat his arm. “You scared the shit out of me, asshole!”

“Relax, L/N.” He squeezes your hips.“It’s just you and me down here.”

You’re against him, your back to his chest. It’s the closest you’d ever been. Sure, you shared the occasional side hug but nothing _more._ The energy inside of the cellar shifts. Something passes between you, a shared thought, an electrical impulse.

Slowly, you turn around. Nelson doesn’t move, his hands skimming over your middle as you rotate to face him. The red light glints off of his glasses. You drag your hands up his chest until you feel his heartbeat beneath your palm. 

The very heart he would stop the moment you finished whatever you had to down here.

You can’t see him very well in the dark, but you can make out the line of his jaw and the curve of his nose. _Beautiful_ is the word that comes to mind. His face was beautiful but so was his mind. He would do something great some day. Hell, maybe tonight would be his greatest achievement and he’d go down in history for it.

But in order for him to do that, he needed to _come_ _back_.

The overwhelming fear that you might never see him again suddenly hit you. This might be the last time you ever held him, or looked into those unfathomable eyes of his. 

So, you kiss him.

Nelson melts into the kiss the instant your lips touch his. Winding his arms around you, he crushes you against his body. You feel every inch of him through his clothes, his thundering heartbeat beating in time with your own. The kiss is needy, as if this really was a goodbye. The risks were great when it came to this experiment, and maybe Nelson really did understand that. Maybe he wasn’t as willfully ignorant as he pretended to be.

So, you throw everything into the kiss. All the months of pent-up frustration and want. You kiss him like you imagined doing the first night he called you and the two of you talked until three in the morning. You kissed him like you wanted to on that first date at the coffee shop when he showed up wearing his glasses and baby-blue button-down.

But the it had to come to an end. (Though, the thought of kissing him until he forgot this stupid idea of his came to mind, you denied it, knowing Nelson’s will for discovery was greater than his will to fuck you.)

You pulled apart, gasping for breath. Nelson released the tight grip which he’d had on your coat and held your face, resting his forehead against yours.

You brush your nose against his. You fling his words back at him, “That got your blood pumping, didn’t it?”

Nelson chuckles breathlessly. “We should ... We should do that again sometime.”

“Yeah.”

“What are you doing later?”

Now, it’s your turn to laugh. “That depends on you, Mr. Frankenstein.”

You rest your hand over his heart, taking a small step back. You want to memorize the feeling. You know it’s morbid to be so doubtful about all of this—but you had a bad habit of expecting the worst.

Nelson covers your hand with his own. “I am fearless and therefore powerful,” he quotes. “Everything’s going to be fine, Y/N.” He takes your hand and kisses the back of it. “We’ll make plans later, okay?”

“Okay.”

You and Nelson wheel in the gurney just in time to see one of his friends reaching for the light switch.

“Not those lights!” he whisper-shouts, “Security will come running.” He pushes it to the side, putting his hand on the small of your back to lead you to the center of the room. He shrugs off his coat. “Set up over the grate, I got the boiler running. Y/N—Steckle and Hurley.”

That’s as much of a proper introduction you get. You note who is who, but both men have little interest in your presence. They’re much too concerned with what was about to happen.

“You’re really gonna do this?” asks Steckle.

Hurley rolls his eyes. “Just humor the man.”

Nelson sheds his sweater, leaving him in his undershirt and continues with his orders. “Take me down with nitrous, sodium pentathol and a refrigerated blanket. I've got chilled D5W in the cooler.” He moves around the space, helping them set up. “When my body temperature hits 86 degrees you'll hit me with 200 joules.The electric current will stop my heart. When the heart is dead...take the mask off.”

Steckle steps forward, slightly out of breath. “Where’s Manus? I thought you said Rachel was coming?”

“Steckle.” Nelson regards him coolly. “Shut the door.”

But he doesn’t. Instead, he joins Hurley and Nelson as they begin unpacking more of their tools. You walk around the hubbub of commotion. An outsider. The three men move around one another in a flurry of chaos. None of their words even make sense to you. It feels like something private, and you’re the Peeping Tom.

Settling against the back wall, you withdraw some of your own supplies. A pad of paper and pen, and your handy-dandy recorder. You discard your sachel to the floor, kicking it out of the way. Nelson fills a syringe with some clear liquid.

“Flip the blanket on to warm, take me up to ninety-three degrees— _slowly_. Inject one CC of adrenaline; and, at one minute, Joe, you come in with the defibs ... and you bring me back to life.” He smiles, but it’s not the warm, radiant one you’re used to. It’s crazy, his eyes are alight with the sick glee that his friends will successfully kill him.

“With brain damage.” The suddenness of the woman’s voice sets you all on edge. Vaguely, you recognize her. This must be the Manus they were talking about. Rachel. She ambles forward, taking her time to approach. “Resembling, in many ways, a Cabbage Patch doll.”

“Not with a body temperature of eighty-six degrees,” he quips. Nelson checks the fill level of the syringe. “Dr. Manus, will you handle the injections?”

They stare at each other for the longest time. Manus glances in your direction, then back at Nelson and nods.

“Wait a minute. Wait,” Steckle interrupts. “Quite simply, why are you doing this?”

“ _Quite simply_ ,” Nelson mocks, “To see if there’s anything out there beyond death. Philosophy failed. Religion failed. Now, it’s up to the physical sciences. I think mankind deserves to know.”

Hurley scoffs, “You’re doing this for man kind?”

From the opposite table, Nelson withdraws a white envelope and passes it over to him. “This letter absolves you of any responsibility. _Just in case._ ”

“This isn’t for mankind, this is for Nelson!” Steckle sneers at Nelson, who was taking off his shirt. “Why do I suddenly see you on 60 minutes, sandwiched between Andy Rooney and a Subaru commercial?”

Nelson rolls his eyes, tossing his shirt onto the table. He picks up a roll of electrodes and begins sticking them on his chest.

“ _Tonight, a young medical student who dared to experience death and come back._ ”

Nelson meets your gaze. “Fame is inevitable.”

The look doesn’t go unnoticed.

“Is that why she’s here?” Steckle, jerks his head towards you. “For your _fame_.”

Honestly, it surprises you that he even knows who you are. While Nelson mentioned his friends in passing, you never expected him to say a thing about you.

“Y/N’s here because I asked her to be here.” He nods to you in understanding. “She’s an unbiased party here to help record our findings today.”

“I’m not unbiased,” you remind him.

“My apologise,” he quips. “She’s a non-medical personal who’s a better writer than any of you schmucks combined. Dr. Hurley,” he addresses the other man in the room, “electrodes. C’mon, Joe. Don’t you want to be on 60 minutes?”

Nelson hops on top of the gurney and they continue putting electrodes all over him. Quiet quips are exchanged. Nelson tries to make a joke out of the whole thing but the others aren’t having it. You can’t blame them. Here you were, watching your maybe-boyfriend laugh at his own suicide, expecting everyone else to do the same.

“Dr. Hurley, get the blanket.” Nelson takes a deep breath. It seems to be hitting him at that moment that they’re really doing this. “Y/N.” You come at his call, squeezing past Hurley as he pulls out a strange, plastic blanket. Discretely, Nelson grabs your hand. “No matter what—you keep going.”

You frown. That seemed like advice he’d give the others, not you.

“Listen to me, Y/N. I know that look, but don’t back out of this. You’re the only one I trust enough to actually see this through. So please, for my sake, keep going.”

He squeezes your hand, and you return the gesture. “I promise.”

Hurley and Manus run you out of the way as they lay the rigid blanket over top of him. “We’re all professionals,” he states. “I’m sure this will go very smoothly.”

There’s a catch in his voice the moment the blanket touches his skin and he lays down. You can feel the chill from here, hand still extended to hold his.

Hurley pulls the blanket up higher, whispering. “Nelson, if you die, can I have your apartment?” Everyone makes a face. He whithers slightly. “It’s a joke.”

“One minute,” Nelson reminds. He can’t hide his shivering anymore, pinching his lips tightly together. Manus sticks more electrodes across his forehead. “Don’t be late. Start recording now. We’ll have a complete record of the experiment.”

Hurley scurries back, grabbing his camera. You take his place, intertwining your fingers with his. With your free hand, you turn on the recorder.

“Promise me you’ll go through with this.” This time, he’s not saying it to you, but to Manus.

She nods.

Nelson turns to you, lips pressed in a thin line to keep from trembling. He quirks an eyebrow. “One little kiss goodbye?”

Your heart skips a beat. Manus does a good job at pretending not to watch you. You know the others are—you can feel it.

You bend over and kiss his cheek. Nelson laughs, like he should’ve expected that. “I’ll see you soon,” you whisper. You peck his lips once more for good measure.

You pull away, allowing Manus to place the mask over his nose. Nelson’s eyes flutter shut after two inhales, his hand falling lax in your own. He’s under.

Steckle wrings his hands together. “This letter does not mean shit. Please let him sleep it off.” He looks to the three of you pleadingly, “He’ll have a wet dream and think he went to Heaven.”

“Good idea.” Hurley shuts off the camera, tucking it under his arm. “Goodnight, Nelson.”

“Now I know why I’m here,” Manus whispers.

You stare at the two boys, wide-eyed. “You’re not seriously going to leave him like that?”

“And why not?” Hurley glares at you. “What’s the alternative? Actually _killing_ him? Are you fucked in the head?”

“You ass.” You jam your finger at Nelson’s sleeping body. “He’s trusting you. _All_ of you, and you’re just going to chicken out at a moments notice?” The boys shift awkwardly. “Look—I don’t like this idea any more than you, but to up and leave him while he’s out like this...? That’s just cruel.”

“I’m not risking my career on this,” says Steckle. “I’ve expressed myself very clearly for the record. Leaving him while he’s under is the best course of action. Goodnight.”

Hurley leans over, whisper shouting, “Steckle’s right, are you willing to risk everything? Med school? Your future? All for Nelson’s _fame_?”

Before Manus could reply, Steckle jogged over in a panic. “Someone’s coming.”

“Oh, _shit_.”

The door bursts open and a haggard looking man with long hair storms into the building. “Is he dead?”

“He’s only sleeping.”

“Thank God you’re here to talk some sense into these people,” says Steckle.

The newcomer nudges Manus, gesturing to Nelson. “I’ll do it.”

“ _What?!_ ”

Manus seems surprised, too. “You’re taking over?”

“I’ve got nothing to lose.”

“Just his life!” interjects Steckle.

The new guy regards his words before turning back to Manus. “I can get him back. Just stop his heart. One minute, bring him right back.”

He grabs the defibrillator paddles and rubs them together, a look of grim determination coloring his features.

Manus leans over his shoulder, sneering, “Dont think I couldn’t have.”

An annoying alarm begins to blare. You turn to a machine which has readings for the blanket temperature and patient temperature. He’s at eighty-six degrees.

“No!”

But there’s no stopping it now. Manus pulls the blanket down, revealing Nelson’s bare chest. The newcomer waits, paddles poised. You hold your breath.

“Clear.”

Hurley reaches out, as if to stop him, but it’s too late.

He places the defibrillator paddles on Nelson’s pectorals. The beeping grows incessantly loud. Then, a bang. Nelson’s unconscious body lurches off of the gurney, before falling flat onto the metal.

“ _What are you doing?_ ”

One of the monitors displaying Nelson’s vitals changes, the lines becoming less sharp. Nearly a flatline.

The guy lays down his paddles and says, “Asystole.”

“You are killing him!” Steckle fists his hair, rocking back and forth on his heels. “It’s called _murder_. No wonder you got tossed.”

“This is not the kind of shit I want on my transcript,” hissed Hurley.

“Please don’t. Don’t do anymore. I did not come to medical school to murder my classmates, no matter how derranged they might be!”

The machine to the side rings a loud, high-pitched sound. Your stomach drops, watching the machine’s line go from steep peaks to a straight line.

Manus reaches over, unstrapping the mask around Nelson’s face. “Flatline.”

You stare down at Nelson with wide, unblinking eyes. _His heart stopped_.

The heart you felt under your hand not thirty minutes ago.

You don’t even realize you’re still holding Nelson’s hand until Joe practically shoves you out of the way. Your fingertips are so cold they’re numb.

Shakily, you lay the recorder down on one of the trays and reach for the pen in your coat pocket. Nelson invited you here for one reason, and one reason only: you’re a reporter. Now, it’s time for you to do your job.

“They’re getting smaller,” Steckle sounds dangerously close to hyperventilating. “He’s dying.”

The ringing remains, echoing through the room loud and unfeeling. Your hand trembles as you write. 

“Brain death,” said Manus. “Now, it’s real.”

The whole thing passed in a blur. Honestly, you’re happy that it did. The moment Manus announced brain death, you went into autopilot.

Physically, you were fine. You did all the things you promised you’d do, scribbling down moments that seemed most important and checking to make sure your recorder was still taping. Mentally, you’d checked out. All you could remember was hearing Manus’ words play on repeat in your mind:

_Now, it’s real. Now, it’s real. Now, it’s real._

They drummed in time with every heartbeat and every footstep. You nearly lost him.

But you didn’t.

He was back—he was _alive_.

The experiment _worked_.

The six of you ran out of the Med building, laughing and whooping and hollering. They cheated death. _Nelson_ cheated death. Though you did nothing to help them, you shared in their triumph.

You and Nelson sat snuggled in the back of David’s (whose name you hadn’t learned until after he resuscitated your maybe-boyfriend) car. He was wrapped in a bundle of blankets, half-frozen from death and shivering in shock. You placed your own coat over top of him, which he tried to deny, but was in no position to do so.

He held your hand tightly in his trembling hand. You held him firmly, in quiet reassurance. You weren’t going anywhere.

They stopped at a convenience store, stocking up on provisions. You didn’t know any of them well enough so you elected to stay with Nelson and Dave (the ‘newcomer’, who’d been more welcoming to you than the others).

You took up residence on the edge of the truck bed, ankles intertwined with one another. The others had already regaled him with what happened while he was out, their lows, their highs. Nelson did his best to recount everything that he saw. Of the splendor of the afterlife and the warm, fluffy feelings it brought. 

Dave listened to it all with a jovial sort of skepticism.

Nelson’s speech peters off. Sheepishly, he smiles. “You’re not buying any of this, are you?”

“It’s okay, man. You forgot.” He shrugged, laughing it off. “I’m an atheist.” Dave rubbed his hands on his thighs then stood. “I’m going to go in with them. Are you alright to...?”

You nod. “Yeah, I got him.”

“Alright, thanks.” He pats Nelson’s shoulder. “Be back soon.”

You watch him go with a small smile. Neither of you talk for the longest time. It’s only when you hear the convenience door shut that Nelson clears his throat.

“Do you believe me?”

You link your ankle around his. “Is there any reason I shouldn’t?” Nelson exhales, looking away. You lay a hand on his thigh. “You’re the only one who knows what you saw. Depending on what it was, good or bad, I could understand you telling us what you think we want to hear.”

“Yeah...” He stares off into space, deep in thought.

For some reason his silence doesn’t sit well with you. Ever since he’d been revived there was something ... off about him. You couldn’t put your finger on it. It wasn’t quite sadness. Nostalgia was the closest word that came to mind, though it too failed to describe the aura around him.

You dab his sweat-slick forehead with your sleeve, but the action morphs into you stroking his face. He doesn’t flinch. “Nel?”

“Hm?”

“You know I’m always on your side,” you say, “right?”

“Yeah.” He forces a smile. “Yeah, I know.”

“Good.”

You reach through his blankets and hold his hand again: It’s freezing. His fingers are stiff, nails tinged light-blue from lack of circulation. You bring his hand up to your mouth and blow hot air on them. He watches you with wide eyes, his hand trembling under your touch. It’s almost ... childlike.

Yes. Childlike. That’s it—his overall demeanor wasn’t the suave, dominant personality you’d come to know. He was vulnerable, still high off of coming back to life. Wide-eyed, taking in everything as if for the first time.

But, much like a child, you don’t hold his attention for long. He faces forward, slouching in his seat. His eyes glaze over. You follow his gaze and note the three painted faces on the brick, each more ghoulish than the last. He’s unblinking, eyebrows slowly knitting inwards. There’s a shift in his mood. His grip tightens on your hand.

“Champ?”

And just as soon as it happens, it’s gone. Nelson blinks rapidly. The tell-tale sounds of the others returning knocks you both out of your reverie.

“Hey, Nelson, are you okay?”

David looks to you, frowning. “Is he okay?”

“He zoned out on me.” You adjust the blankets on him so they cover him better. “It’s probably just shock. Everything’s catching up to him all at once.”

“Someone should stay with him tonight.”

“I can do it.” The four go quiet. Obviously, their suggestion hadn’t extended to you. “Look, I know I’m not a nurse or a doctor or something, but I can look after him. Besides, my first class isn’t until one tomorrow. I have the time.”

Randy seems like he’s about to protest, but Nelson cuts him off. “Thank you.”

“Of course.”

David nods. He’s not as reluctant as the others, and maybe it’s because Nelson actually _thanked_ you that helps him agree. “Okay then. Thanks, Y/N. I’ll leave my number in case you need to call.”


End file.
